


Ice and oceans and the sky when the day is young

by brownest_goldfish_intheair



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: M/M, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25473091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownest_goldfish_intheair/pseuds/brownest_goldfish_intheair
Summary: "Andrés loved touching Martín; always had, playing with the buttons of his shirt only five minutes after they’d met and putting his arm around him in the middle of business meetings, so Martín shouldn’t have been surprised when he reached for his hand in the first aisle they walked down, interlocking their fingers and talking about peppers and spaghetti as if it were the most natural thing in the world."
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	Ice and oceans and the sky when the day is young

“Andrés, that’s a red light!”  
  
Martín really didn’t have the energy for this. He was sitting in the passenger seat, trying his best to have an overview of the traffic at all times while lightly massaging his temples to get rid of a forming headache.  
“I can see that.” Andrés replied, completely calm as he stopped the car so abruptly, Martín ended up with the seatbelt painfully pressed against his chest. He sighed quietly and glanced over to his left.  
  
This really _was_ Andrés, driving down the streets of Palermo with him.  
Andrés, who’d kissed him and told him he loved him right before he left him; Andrés, who’d broken his heart and let him cry over the pieces for almost two months before knocking on his door, all honest eyes and charming smiles, saying the same three words _again_.  
And of course, Martín had punched him in the face, as one would.  
  
“Does it hurt?” He asked, regarding the faint bruise on Andrés’ cheek in the glow of the traffic lights.  
“You certainly know how to throw a punch.” He smirked as he turned the corner and drove slowly down the street. “Wouldn’t have expected anything else.”  
  
It was insane how quickly they had fallen back into their previous rhythm after Martín had finally let Andrés hold him, poisonous words dissolving into desperate sobs as he buried his face in his shirt. And Andrés had known exactly how to calm him down, just enough so Martín listened when he explained why he’d left; that he’d only tried to protect him, the best way he knew how to.  
And of course it wasn’t perfect, not by far: Martín was still hurt Andrés was still dying and the flat was still a mess of empty bottles and dusty surfaces; but it was _them_ – them, sitting on the couch together, silence light and words coming easily, as if no time had passed at all, and then them kissing; Andrés pushing Martín back against the armrest of the sofa and Martín eagerly opening his legs to make room for his body.  
  
“You’re cold.” Andrés said, looking over at him from the corner of his eye. The late July heat had disappeared and made way for the coolness of the night, making Martín shiver as they walked through the car park. Before he could even take a breath to reply, Andrés was already taking off his jacket and draping it over his shoulders.  
“I don’t think it’s cold in there.” Martín said quietly, slipping into the burgundy velvet that had so often made his breath hitch when it had brushed against his skin and letting the warmth comfort him.  
  
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Martín asked when Andrés suddenly stopped kissing him, unable to keep the panic out of his voice, Andrés deserting his mouth like that way too close to the moment that had been giving him nightmares for weeks.  
“It’s just…” Andrés looked down at his hands resting on Martín’s waist and his eyebrows furrowed in irritation. “I remember this feeling… softer.”  
At that, Martín breathed out in a mix of relief and annoyance because _right_ , not eating for weeks doesn’t go unnoticed by someone mapping out every inch of your body.  
  
“ _Two days_?” He asked after Martín had reluctantly told him when he’d last eaten and Martín wanted to drown in the cushions to escape the expression on his face. “This is unacceptable, I will cook for you.”  
Martín knew there was no point in arguing with something Andrés had decided on; as much as he wanted to _hiss_ at him to keep kissing him, he complied, forcing his hands off the back of his neck so he could get up.  
But Andrés made it alright – of course he did – he kissed him at the door and on the stairs and in the car where Martín was still trying to convince him to let _him_ drive.  
“You’re still drunk, cariño.” He’d sighed before joining their lips. “I can taste it.”  
Every time, Martín first froze and then melted, his nerves tensing up at the prospect of loss and false hope and then relaxing into reassurance because they _recognised_ Andrés; because Martín knew him with every fibre of his being.  
  
Andrés loved touching Martín; always had, playing with the buttons of his shirt only five minutes after they’d met and putting his arm around him in the middle of business meetings, so Martín shouldn’t have been surprised when he reached for his hand in the first aisle they walked down, interlocking their fingers and talking about peppers and spaghetti as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Martín didn’t really listen because he couldn’t help but think how weird it must look to everyone; Andrés with a bruise on his cheek and Martín’s with his eyes still red-rimmed from crying, calmly holding hands while buying vegetables at 10 p.m. But as strange as the picture was, he didn’t care at all: Like back when they’d bounced ideas off each other in vast shared rooms, revelling in each other’s excitement; the kings of Florence, planning a heist in their castle high up in the hills, looking down at a city full of peasants and laughing at their lack of imagination and possibilities. They’d were invincible, on top of the world as long as they were together.  
“Andrés.” Martín said once they had all the necessary ingredients for pasta. “Don’t we have time to buy more food tomorrow?”  
Andrés instantly turned to him, eyeing him up and down, and Martín wondered if it was obvious, in the pinching, fluorescent lights, how much his whole body ached.  
“Of course.” He smiled and cupped his cheeks to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “Let’s go home, mi amor.” And Martín was melting again.  
  
“Sleep if you’re tired.” He said when Martín stifled a yawn right after getting into the car. Martín shook his head.  
“I’m not.” He mumbled. He was asleep before Andrés even started the car.  
  
  
“Martín.” He could feel Andrés lips brush against his while he slowly blinked open his eyes.  
“Andrés.” He breathed, his voice hoarse with desire, reaching for the hand Andrés had placed on his thigh to moved it up, in between his legs.  
Andrés tightened the hold he had on the back of his neck as his eyes turned darker, shifting between Martín’s eyes and lips.  
“Cariño, we can’t.” He said and pulled him into a kiss, moving his hand up to his waist. Martín stubbornly sighed into it, making sure to let his whole body respond; to make it as hard as possible for Andrés to let go. But he had always been better at controlling himself than Martín.  
“I want you to feel good and how could you when you’re starving, hm? You’ll eat and then…” Andrés leaned in to whisper in his ear, making shivers run down his spine.  
“I’ll fuck you until you forget your own name. Because trust me, it’s not just you who has been thinking about it every night since then.” Martín’s breath hitched as he dug his fingers into the car seat. If Andrés had touched him again, he would have climbed on top of him and straddled him until he would have given in – but Andrés didn’t touch him; not in that way: He went to open the door for him and rested a hand on the small of his back as they walked up the stairs, carrying the bags in the other. Then he helped Martín out of the jacket he was still wearing and ran his fingers down his arms, letting them linger right above his wrists.  
“Please wear something warmer; you’re shivering.” He said before he moved to softly kiss his neck. And indeed, Martín realised, despite the 20 degrees outside he _was_ shivering. It must be the lack of sleep and the alcohol and the lump in his throat that just seemed not to go away.  
“I can help you-“  
“You can go and change, querido; get comfortable, okay?” After a moment’s hesitation, Martín nodded.  
  
“Don’t leave.” The words had been out of his mouth before he could consider them, his hand tightly clutching Andrés wrist, seemingly of its own accord. _You’re so pathetic._ He thought to himself as he saw Andrés’ face soften into a mix of sympathy and guilt. But he couldn’t help it: The thought of Andrés going out to buy food and leaving him alone, waiting and not knowing if he’d come back, was simply not bearable.  
Andrés must have understood because he didn’t fight Martín’s grip; he gave into it, crouching down before the sofa to properly meet his eyes.  
“Would you come with me?” He asked with a calm smile. Martín had to look away when he agreed.  
  
As soon as he came back to the kitchen, Andrés pulled him into a hug, his hands running down the cashmere of his sweater, feeling through the fabric he’d chosen for him a few years back.  
“You’re so beautiful, it makes me forget to breathe sometimes.” He whispered and Martín couldn’t help but smile against his chest. He would have loved to fall asleep like that.  
“Do you know how to turn on my stove?” He asked after a moment.  
“No.” Andrés whispered while he continued stroking Martín’s back.  
“Thought so.” Martín sighed and untangled himself with a small huff to gently push Andrés into the kitchen.  
  
Andrés measured out spaghetti portions while Martín got the water to boil and once they were cooking, he nudged him to the side.  
“Sit down. I got it.” He said. Martín rose his eyebrows:  
“Oh, really?” Andrés rolled his eyes.  
“I _can_ cook, Martín.” He said as he watched Martín sit down on the kitchen counter behind him. “I cooked for you the night we met, remember?” Of course Martín remembered. Andrés had flirted with him, brought him back to his place, flirted some more, and then proceeded to propose a heist. Martín had never been so confused in his life. But when they talked, it felt so familiar, and they eventually ended up in the kitchen, still talking, still drinking wine and Andrés had started cooking while Martín sat on the counter and explained the construction of a building Andrés wanted to break into.  
“I expected you to fuck me that night, you know.” Martín smirked. “Ten years later, I’m still waiting.”  
Andrés turned around and took a step closer to pull Martín toward him by the hips, letting him wrap his legs around his waist.  
“And you’re so patient, corazón, I love it.” He roared, drawing circles on his back with his fingers. Martín revelled in the touch, in the feeling of Andrés body against his; how close he felt through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.  
“I want to make food, will you let me go?” He asked lowly, softly kissing Martín’s collarbones.  
“No.” Martín whispered as he smiled down at him. “Never.”  
“Good.” Andrés kissed all the way up to his chin before he pulled back, running his hands down Martín's thighs with a look on his face that made his cheeks flush as he leaned back onto his palms.  
  
  
They ate on the bed because Martín had never bothered to buy a table; Andrés changed the bedsheets, Martín opened the windows and the night turned quiet as they settled on the mattress with their knees touching between them. It would have almost been romantic, had Martín not had to pause after every bite to keep himself from vomiting - not because the food wasn't good, but because his body hadn't forgiven him yet - and had Andrés not looked so worried while trying to pretend he didn’t notice.  
  
“I’m sorry.” He said when he put away his half-empty plate. “This is probably not the glorious reunion you were expecting.” Andrés instantly turned to face him.  
“Stop.” He said without missing a beat, putting his own plate on the floor to scoot closer. “You don’t get to apologise; because you did nothing wrong. Do you understand? Nothing.” Martín’s eyes started to burn when Andrés cupped his cheeks, turning all his emotions raw by catching his gaze. “You were perfect, Martín. You were perfect and I ruined it. And still I somehow end up in your bed. I don’t know what god I helped in a past life to deserve this, but you could _never_ do anything you’d have to apologise for.”  
Martín gave him a watery chuckle, his throat slowly closing up with tears, and he would have liked to say how much he loved Andrés and that he himself had his flaws too, but all words were washed from his head by the intensity of Andrés opening himself up like that, making himself so utterly vulnerable just for him. So he did his best to nod while Andrés wiped away every single one of his tears before they could roll down his cheeks and then engulfed him in his arms, settling back against the headboard so Martín could rest his whole body in his.  
“Shh.” He whispered as he began to gently stroke his hair, putting his hand on Martín’s that was resting on his waist. Martín flinched at the touch, remembering the state his hands were in with a wave of embarrassment; Andrés must have noticed the bruises and the bloody knuckles, the result of punching bedroom and bathroom walls in fits of bitter rage.  
“Does it hurt?” Andrés asked quietly, carefully running his thumb over all the shades of blue and red.  
Martín closed his eyes as he shook his head, letting himself drown in the sensation.  
“Not anymore.” He whispered.  
  
He woke up when the sun had just barely started to rise, with his body curled around Andrés’, who was now wearing nothing but his briefs and holding Martín close under the blanket; he kissed his neck to wake him up, already hard where he was pressed against his leg, and Andrés had him pinned to the bed within seconds.  
  
He didn’t take him hard; they were both uncoordinated and slow because they were still sleepy and because it was their first time, charged with longing and years of pent up desire and Martín knew right away that he wouldn’t last long, but it was okay; nothing mattered when Andrés carefully untangled his fingers from the bedsheets and interlocked them with his own.  
  
“Te quiero.” He whispered when Martín had his legs pressed into his sides, arching his back through the sensation of Andrés pushing into him. “Te quiero, Martín.” And Martín chuckled into a groan, pulling Andrés down for a kiss before he breathed “Te quiero también” the words tumbling over his lips in pleased whimpers, using up the last bit of coherence he had before he let himself fully be enveloped by the feeling of Andrés inside him, the pressure of his hips and the sounds of their joined moans.

His orgasm was soft; forgiving and delicate, like ripples on water. When it faded, he wanted to laugh, shaken by euphoria, catching his breath in the sticky morning air with Andrés’ hot body pressed against his and cold lips tracing his collarbones.  
Andrés moved up a hand to trace his jawline.  
“All the paintings hanging in the Louvre could never match the beauty of your face when you come.” He cooed, and Martín wanted to tell him not to be so dramatic, but he couldn’t form words, let alone sentences, so he simply sighed when Andrés locked his lips in a kiss.  
  
  
“Why did you take me with you?” He asked later, resting his head on Andrés' chest, enjoying the feeling of his fingers lazily caressing his shoulder. “That first night, in Madrid.”  
Andrés chuckled quietly, calmly continuing his movements. Martín could feel his chest heave with a deep breath before he spoke:  
“I’d never seen eyes like that.” He replied, soft nostalgia swinging in his voice.  
Martín blinked against the pale sunlight sneaking in through the blinds as his brain tried to catch up with the words.  
“What?” He asked. “Blue?” Andrés chuckled again, lower this time.  
“Your eyes are not blue, Martín. They’re ice and oceans and the sky when the day is young. But that’s not what I mean.” He paused for a moment. Martín was half-asleep when he spoke again, Andrés’ voice so soothing, it could have guided him to through storms. “They were so kind; shimmering with so much love and passion. I don’t know how all of that can fit into one person’s heart, but you carry it so effortlessly, with such grace. All I wanted was to see it every day for the rest of my life; let it captivate me over and over and try to make you feel, if only a little, how much it meant to me.”  
The room was silent around Martín while he drank up every single word; let them wrap his heart in silk; ease all his pain and mend all the cracks and settle right at its core.  
  
“And you? Why did you come with me?” Andrés asked after a while, his voice low and laced with sleep. Martín thought for a moment before he moved to place a kiss on his chest.  
“Isn’t it obvious?” He whispered, a small grin forming on his lips. Andrés rose his eyebrows at him.  
“Because I was hungry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading xx


End file.
